An Angel at St Mary's
by ice73
Summary: An invalided youth meets a beautiful woman on a remote island and has his heart stolen away.
1. Crescendo

**Disclaimer:** Kimagure Orange Road (c) Matsumoto Izumi/ Shuueisha/ Studio Pierrot/ Toho. This work is not intended for commercial gain or to infringe on any copyrights.

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AN ANGEL AT ST. MARY'S

I still remember when I first saw her, silhouetted against the low island sun and eye-bright water. Her figure trod the fine sand of St. Mary's and immediately piqued my interest. She was full-bodied, white-skinned, had a flawless complexion and long raven hair, and was very beautiful.

"Good morning," she called as walked up to me. Her voice had a lilt I could not identify. It sounded Asian. "Is Missus Chubby in?"

"Yes," I answered, struggling a little in my predicament, which embarrassed me. I felt like a boy who had been sleeping in church and woken up to find that the statues of the saints had come down and crowded themselves around my poor body.

"Do you need help?" Her eyes, almond-shaped and an earnest sea-green, looked down at me.

"If it's not too much trouble," I grumbled ungraciously.

She was strong. As easily as one would drag a table across a waxed wooden floor, she took hold of my wheelchair and pulled it and me out of the sand. In my eagerness to enjoy my solitude and freedom in the subtropical sun I had let myself get bogged down deep, mere feet from firmer earth and safety, and was feeling too sullen to help myself any further.

"Thank you," I said, when she had placed me back on terra firma. I hoped she wasn't laughing secretly at my weakness.

"Is no problem," she replied, smiling at me. Her teeth were white and even. She made sure I was okay, then passed me to continue on to the bungalow behind us.

That was when I first met the angel at St. Mary's.

-oOo-

He was a handsome young man when I first saw him, sitting in his wheelchair in the afternoon sun in front of Mrs. Chubby's house. I had walked all the way from the shack to tell her I was going to town for a while. The old lady smiled at me and said sure, there was no problem with that. I could even leave the door unlocked; there were no thieves on a place as small as St. Mary's.

He was still sitting there when I came out. I had judged him to be around seventeen to twenty-two years old, but when the noise of sandals on the wooden steps caught his ear he turned around and I saw eyes that were much older. I thought then that he was sick; his wheelchair justified the conclusion, and pasty white skin and thin body only strengthened my suspicions.

I gave him a smile as I passed by him, adjusting the small bag hanging from my shoulder. I had simply pulled on a pair of shorts over my one-piece and put on a polo shirt, which I had left unbuttoned. A straw hat sat on my head, to protect me from the sun. The days were very hot on the island, though the nights were comfortable and balmy.

I had gone a couple of steps towards the main dirt road when I heard his voice call after me. Thank you, he said. I looked back at him and waved. For some reason the plaintive eagerness in his pose and voice reminded me of someone. Someone I'd left far away.

-oOo-

Her hips swayed as she walked; I would later find it was something very unusual in women from her country. The lushness of her, the very music in her steps made my day come alive. I was less of a burden to Mrs. Chubby that afternoon.

When she left on her bicycle I resolved to wait for her return. I gave up moping in my room, which was usually how I passed the time here on the island, and after lunch took a book out to read in the open sun.

She returned at around two. I don't know how, but I looked up at the exact moment she came pedaling over the low rise of road which led to town. She was a splash of red and blue against the brown soil and green acacia trees.

She parked the bicycle and walked to the beach. Her shapely hips still swayed. There was no doubt in my mind that she was heading to the shack near the shore. She saw me, smiled, and said, "Are you still there? You might get sunburn."

Sunburn! After making me wait here all this time! What a petty thing to say!

I watched forlornly as she disappeared up the strip of sand. A bunch of leaning coconut trees soon hid her from my sight. I was hoping she would go up to the house again to talk to Mrs. Chubby. That chance having been stolen from me, I plotted and schemed a little myself, then got out of my wheelchair to walk the short distance up the stairs and talk to my aunt.

She wasn't really a relative of mine; the fat woman was an old friend of my father's. He had decided to come visit this former stomping ground of his, and take me along with him. This place was indeed a treat and very different from England, but the novelty soon wore off. My old man left me with Mrs. Chubby while he went gallivanting off to the other islands, saying that he'd not been here for a long time and might not have the chance to visit them again, and would I be a dear chap and wait for him? It was only going to be for a few days. I had sighed then; it wasn't like I could say 'no' to him. So the days went on and on with nothing to do except read the books in Mrs. Chubby's house and occasionally drop by the town. There wasn't even any decent TV to speak of; my ennui found all the channels inane and unentertaining.

Mrs. Chubby saw me out of my wheelchair and opened her wide mouth to give me the usual scolding; I usually came in by the back door, which was level with the ground. I raised my hand.

"Auntie," I said, "could you invite that woman over for dinner?"

"What woman? Oh, you mean the one who came over a while ago?"

"The very one."

"I suppose I could," she said, mulling it over. "Why? You interested in her?"

"Cor, yes, of course I am! I'm not blind!"

"Well, alrighty, then, I'll ask her to come over later. Don't get your hopes up, young 'un. She's told me she's here to rest, not go entertaining oversexed young men like you."

"I am not oversexed!"

"Sure, I've heard it all before. Boys your age, they all think with their ba—"

"Auntie!"

A mulatto grin. "Ah, I keep forgetting what a prude you are. It's so strange. I wouldn't mind you panting after the next hot bod that you see. It's just that you don't, even with the local girls." Who, of course, are very free-spirited and not ashamed of their bodies, of things earthy and sensual, unlike most of the girls back home.

Of course I don't, Auntie. If I let myself get—erhm—aroused, my blood pressure will shoot up and my heart will strain itself. It's not a very pleasant feeling.

"Well, now you know I'm not gay."

"Amen to that." For Mrs. Chubby, time stopped around the straightlaced eighties, when Mr. Chubby died on an island a bit of a ways from here. She's been living alone ever since. "I wish you told me about this earlier. You know it's a long way to town, and I don't think she'll like our ordinary food very much."

"I'm sorry, Auntie." I walked over to the dining table and sat down. "I'll go get whatever you need, if you want me to."

"And have you drop dead in the middle of the street? What will your father think of me?" She put down the knife she was using to fillet fish on the chopping board. "You're pushing yourself too hard."

Deep inside I just shook my head. Why wait, when every day I'm alive is a gift? I'm not an aggressive person; rather, I'm the opposite. But this illness of mine has robbed me of enough days of living, so why not catch the moment as it flies by? My reasons for wanting to see that woman were purely selfish, but I will not apologize for them. He who lives in Beauty's light... or something like that. The only one who can bring me to task on this, the only person I will listen to, is someone who has been through the same things I have, who knows what it's like to spend the whole night awake, struggling for breath, or spending the day twisting in a burning pain that cannot be relieved by anything except morphine up the spine. Begrudge me a little happiness, go ahead: call me a typical male, a gutter-minded freak. I will not listen to you.

-oOo-

I stared askance at the food on the table.

"It was very nice of you to invite me," I said, "but you shouldn't have gone to all this trouble."

"Oh, it was no trouble at all," explained Mrs. Chubby. "We get so few visitors this way, as you know. Thank you for coming over."

I nodded and started to help myself. When I finished I asked the young man, "Why haven't I seen you here before?"

"I only came last week," he answered, "and I've spent all the time in my room."

"So that man I saw... is he your father?"

The young man nodded. The resemblance was there: same cheek structure, same nose, similar ears. But his eyes, gray and light in color, were different.

"You have your mother's eyes, am I correct?"

His brows, fine and feathery, almost blending into his skin, went up. "Yes. How do you know?"

"Lucky guess."

It was that exchange that prompted him to speak up more, I guess. He mentioned that he was there for his health, and, God forgive me, I began to suspect him of being a hypochondriac as he talked about it. But in the end I learned that he had been very sick, and still was. I had been right, but the fact didn't cheer me at all.

"Well, I hope you get better very fast," I said, taking a spoonful of the sun clam stew Mrs. Chubby had prepared. He seemed faintly pleased by the comment. But he really beamed when I added, "I would like someone to go scuba diving with."

"Really? I'd like that too! You've been diving long?"

I told him I had obtained my certification back in high school.

"Really?" he repeated. "Wow, that's so cool! If only I weren't so much of a weakling," he said, his voice faltering.

It was only then that I realized my mistake. "If you want, you could walk from here to my house and back again as your exercise. I won't mind the company," I offered, feeling guilty.

He accepted and we continued talking. I was a bit dismayed: I had come there to think things through, not cultivate any friendships. I wanted to be alone; I needed to be alone. But there was no way to retract the offer, so I mentally steeled myself for his presence for the next couple of days.

-oOo-

From a distance she was beautiful, but up close she was stunning. She seemed to fill the little room with a thousand blazing lights, the very gravitas of her, even when she was just sitting there and not speaking. Several times I felt I couldn't breathe, that I had to get out of the room or suffocate; that was how powerful her latent presence was.

Excited as I was, young as I was, I asked her if she had a boyfriend, which in hindsight was a crass, stupid thing to do. It's probably a reflection of how enamored I already was of her, all nineteen years of me, all five feet nine inches of me.

The question made her laugh. It was somehow a tinkling sound, that bounced happily off the wooden walls and chased itself out the screened windows and doors into the cool night. "No," she answered. I was thrilled by the word and quickly cut her off by asking if I could walk over in the early morning, when the sun was just coming up and the sand was not yet hot. She looked at me for a long moment and slowly nodded. I decided then I had to curb my enthusiasm or I was surely going to offend her within the next two minutes.

She was what, twenty-five years old? I dared not ask such an impolite question, or the precious butterfly that had lighted on my hand might choose to fly away and disappear again among the flowers. I don't know why I thought of her that way—maybe it was her shiny black hair, or sparkling eyes, of much the same green iridescence as a butterfly's wings, or the silence that hung about her, fluttering at the edges, barely marked but certainly there. Perhaps it was her quietude, like a lepidopteran's; for she was quite taciturn, although never impolite. I counted the number of times she made unsolicited comments that night. Four times, was all. But her reticence only excited my imagination more. I couldn't wait for the morning to arrive. Only much later, when I was in bed, did I realize that I still didn't know her name. It had never come up in all the talk. So that night I still knew her only as the angel of St. Mary's.

-oOo-

You are an idiot, I told myself later as I lay back on the hard bed, staring up at the brown fiberboard ceiling low above me. You saw the warning signs. The boy's got a case of _instanto kurashu_ on you, and you should have nipped it in the bud. Why didn't you? Why didn't you, _sukeban-jan?_ You were less nice to your husband during your growing years.

It was the pathos, I answered. The pathos made me do it. The pathos of such an inoffensive little boy looking so happy, and for the first time in a long while, it seemed. And don't try and scold me for acting the way I did to Mister _Chou-no-ryoku-sha._ You know I only did that when he was acting like a pervert and a jerk, or was in you-know-who's arms. You know whom I'm talking about. I'll give you a couple of hints: one of her trademark expressions when we were younger was an earsplitting "Kyadakyadakyada," she's got fine blond hair, she's now in New York and is doing quite well for herself. I miss her.

Nevertheless, you're right. I'm not going to string him along, the way _otto_-san and I strung her along. Tomorrow I'll act tough and mean and break the little boy's heart.

Good luck.

-oOo-

The moment the alarm clock rang I got dressed, brushed my teeth and walked slowly out of the house. I couldn't help it. The sun was only beginning its long, slow climb to the horizon and beyond, but my day was already shining bright. I forced myself to a snail-slow pace; no sense in reaching her place gasping and wheezing like an old man. It wouldn't look very hip, nor would it convey the impression I was hoping to make on her.

Twenty minutes. It took me about twenty minutes to cross a strip of sand roughly 300 feet long. My chest wasn't hurting by the time I arrived, but I was sweaty and clammy.

The shack she was using used to be my father's, way back when he was trying to make an honest living by skippering fishing tours and diving jaunts and hiding from the rest of the world—and the law as well, of which Mom was a member. When he married her they spent seven years here, then decided to return to old Blighty, where they had me and settled down into a respectable life.

It isn't really a shack. It's quite well furnished. There's electricity, and a refrigerator and a radio, bathroom and gas range, so it's not ramshackle or anything like that. It's just what my father used to call it, and the name has stuck. Mrs. Chubby practically owns it now, and to administer to it better she sold her old home and moved here, to this lonely beach, to the bungalow she had had built. My father was concerned about her being lonely, but she said she didn't mind, as she never did like other people's company anyway. Other people excluding us, of course.

The shack was dark and unlit in the early-morning twilight. I looked at the silent, untenanted veranda and guessed she was probably still asleep. Five-thirty _was_ quite early, after all. So I settled myself in one of the old wooden sway-backed chairs on the porch. The wood creaked loudly, but there was no hint of a response from within the house.

It was then that I looked out at the bay, and saw that the angel had turned into a mermaid. It had to be her, scything the water like that; who else could it be? She was a black shadow in the violet waves. Her arms described a half-circle, half-circle as she swam. Fascinated, I leaned back to watch in the chair.

-oOo-

I give myself credit for forgetting all about the sick young man's visit. Other things were occupying my mind that early morning as I took my customary morning swim, chief among them my husband and our relationship. I had come here to be away from him, so I could ponder over my future and his—our future, which seemed too hazy for my liking.

I was finished with my dip, so I stood up and began to walk towards the small house I called home for now. A friend of a friend of a friend had told me about this out-of-the-way island and the summer she spent here, in contemplative solitude. I told my sister-in-law about it, and she adjusted her large glasses—why she still doesn't want to wear contacts on a regular basis, I don't know, as she is very attractive without them, and is still single—and said, in her usual soft, kind voice, "I think that's probably what you need. Time away from each other. Time for yourselves. You've been so busy with your careers and married life that you've scarcely had the opportunity to grow as your own person. That shouldn't stop, not even when you're married, _onee-san._"

Onee-san. How I loved it when she called me that. Of all her family—my family too as well, ever since I said "Goodbye, thank you for taking care of me," to my parents—she's the one I can relate to the most: she used to bear the serious responsibility of keeping their household together, of shopping and cleaning and cooking and reminding her siblings to do their homework and sleep early, and for a long time was trapped in that role, that personality. Her older brother—my husband—was too much of an indecisive bum, and her twin was too happy-go-lucky, for them to assume that job as much as her. So when she talked about needing to grow as one's own person, I listened.

I was so lost in thought that I never noticed the silent, scrawny figure sitting in the porch seat until I was halfway out the water. Oh, great, I thought to myself. It's rather difficult to be tough and mean when your breasts are hanging out of the water for all the world to see. Nice job, idiot. Instead of being a hardcase you've managed to titillate his teenage libido all the more. Now it'll be even harder to get rid of him.

-oOo-

Possibly she saw me with my mouth gaping open as I sat there as still as a statue long before I thought she did. I never expected her to swim topless. I had assumed she would be in a bikini, like all the other girls on this island, except for the native ones who dove for pearls amongst the reefs dotting the coast. True, those pieces of swimwear hardly covered anything at all, but they still broadcast the message that the wearer was concerned about propriety, however small that concern might be. And yet there she was, standing waist-deep in the sea, with the waves going past her and her magnificent upper body on display.

To this day I still remember her reaction when she discovered me sitting there ogling her. She didn't yell, she didn't shriek or curse; she just covered her pendent bounty and those lovely pinkish-brown nipples of hers with an arm and sunk back into the water and waved to me. There was only the slightest trace of annoyance on her face.

"Excuse me," she called, "could you please throw me my towel? It's on the other chair."

I looked across the porch to the other wooden seat. Yes, there was a folded green towel there. I picked it up, looked at her kneeling modestly in the water, and decided to go out and give it to her. You see, her dignified reaction had immediately instilled a deep shame in me, that I should have feasted my eyes on her, like a man who had discovered a group of nymphs bathing and without remorse leered at their pure, otherworldly beauty. It was as if my lecherous thoughts had psychically soiled her, and my effort would be my apology. In retrospect I should've thought about things from her point of view: if I were naked and in her position, would I want a stranger coming near me?

I waded out into the wet. She gasped and moved away from me, still hiding herself in the water. I was puzzled but followed her.

"What are you doing?" she asked. "Give me my towel. Don't come near me."

I obliged and saw the apprehension in her eyes. She unfolded the cloth, not seeming to care if it got wet, and covered up while still in the water. When she had finished she stood up and looked at me. "Go back and sit down. I won't be responsible if something happens to you."

I slowly returned to the porch and the sanctuary of a chair.

-oOo-

I was mostly untroubled about having been seen topless by him. Really, who cares about what one boy thinks? In this out-of-the-way place, modesty is not so much valued as respect, and so far he was being respectful enough. The look on his visage I could understand. I had seen it many times before, on one particular face and a few others in the distant past.

I walked up to the door and opened it. He just sat there in the chair, shoulders moving up and down slightly, looking up at me. I had wanted to say something coarse and unkind to him, but when I saw those eyes of his, I felt as if I would be kicking a puppy if I did that, and consequently let him be for the moment.

I went in, saying that I wouldn't be long, and made sure to lock the door after me before I went to my bag and took clean clothes out of it, along with a new, dry towel. I headed to the bathroom and showered and dressed before coming back out.

He appeared to be watching the sunrise. I sat down in the unoccupied chair and joined him in doing that.

"It's a pretty sight," he said, after some minutes.

"Yes, it is," I agreed. "Like the show?"

"Excuse me?"

"I said, did you like the show I put on?"

"Oh." There was a contrite expression on his face. "Sorry."

"That's okay. I forgot you were coming, or I would never have gone skinny-dipping in the first place."

"I'm still sorry."

"I forgive you, then." That impossible-to-kick puppy-dog face again. He looked just the way my husband did when we were younger, when he was really trying to beg for forgiveness. "Aren't you too early up?"

"What? Oh, no, I'm usually awake at this hour."

"Really?"

"Yes." He seemed to want to say something more about it, but kept silent.

"Want breakfast? My treat."

"Oh, would you? That would be fine!"

I went back inside, cursing myself. Why was I being so nice to him? Was it because I couldn't kick him, and had settled for kicking myself instead? I should've told him I was busy. But doing what? And there was precedent for this anyway, among those friends of mine that until now my husband knew nothing about. When we got in trouble we looked out for one another. A group of mutts caring for each other: that says a lot about them and me.

It was a good thing I bought a lot of food yesterday. I had this vague thought of gorging myself and growing fat, so that my hubby wouldn't like me anymore when he saw me again. It was nothing serious, though, just a chimera of the night that soon evaporated into nothingness and sped off into the winds of the Indian Ocean.

I soon finished and called him in to eat. He came in with a bashful smile and an appreciative sniff.

-oOo-

Omelettes, bacon, bread and coffee—she certainly had an idea of breakfast different from what I expected.

"Why? Were you expecting miso and onigiri?" she asked, when I had remarked on this.

"Sort of," I replied truthfully. She was leaning back in her chair, wearing a baby-blue t-shirt and cut-off jean shorts.

"That's so stereotypical," she noted. "What we eat isn't that different from what you eat."

"What about squid and raw fish?" I challenged her.

"I meant breakfast." She made a face. "I don't eat those for breakfast."

"Oh."

-oOo-

I wasn't going to tell him about _natto,_ or the fact that I could never understand what the British saw in placing cucumber in sandwiches, or beans on toast.

He was trying his best to be helpful and ingratiating. He offered to do the dishes and I let him, fearing that otherwise he was going to turn that puppy-dog look on me again. Besides, I was feeling lazy. I sat down at the table after placing the dishes in the sink and decided to watch him. The moment he started to show any sign of being in distress, down on a chair he would go, and I would finish what he started.

I dug in the back pocket of my jean shorts and produced a battered pack of cigarettes. "Do you mind if I smoke?" I asked, lifting the container into view as he turned around.

He frowned. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice full of shame. "I have to mind. I can't stand the smell just yet."

I frowned in return. For Heaven's sake, can't a girl _ever_ get to smoke in peace? I was already so far away from home, and yet here was another man who was stopping me from doing so! I couldn't smoke in the airport, I couldn't smoke on board the planes, and now this! I tossed the pack down on the table and bit out "Che!" in disgust.

"My father also smokes, but not in my room," he said as he rinsed a plate. "He'd blow the house up if he ever did that because of the oxygen tanks in there." He smiled and put the plate in the dish rack. "That's why I got used to clean air."

"Oxygen tanks?"

"I use them when I have trouble breathing."

Unseen by him, I really frowned. This boy really _was_ sick.

"Asthma?"

"No. Just plain difficulty breathing. Something about blood-soluble gases and the like, I could never really understand that part."

-oOo-

When I had finished she ordered me to sit down, a command that I gladly followed.

"How long are you staying?" I asked. "If you don't mind my asking."

"I don't know, myself. I have a career to get back to, but right now all I can say is, to hell with it. But why am I talking like this? You can't be interested in my problems."

"Sometimes," I ventured, "two heads are better than one."

"Oh, really? Well, tell me this, then: why am I feeling so insecure in my family life? Why do I get the feeling I'm drifting away from my husband?"

"Husband?" Just my luck. Well, what was I thinking anyway? Of course, someone as beautiful as her had to be claimed by now. No horticulturist would leave a one-of-a-kind tulip alone, would he?

-oOo-

Oops. I winced inwardly, but felt it was for the best. I watched his face fall and tried my hardest to shift things to a more positive light.

"I was trying to tell you at dinner," I said. "No, I have no boyfriend, and yes, I am married. Young man, you didn't answer my question."

"I... maybe you're looking for yourself," he said, struggling to stay in the game.

"That's not an answer," I said, "but I am."

"Do you think you'll find it here?"

"Maybe. Who knows?" I'm not normally this chatty, even with my own sisters-in-law. Maybe it's because he's just a stranger whose path happened to cross mine, and I have nothing to lose and nothing to be embarrassed about if I tell him these things—it's just too impersonal a relationship to work that way. Maybe it's the island magic one hears about; maybe it breaks down one's normal reserve. Life and love, trysting among the sands and kissing under the palms. Well, I wasn't going to do either just now, since my significant other was more than a thousand miles away.

I offered him a little aluminum-wrapped square. "Chocolate?"

"No, thank you. Allergy."

"Boy, what _do_ you do for fun?" I asked in exasperation, throwing the square down on the table. "You don't smoke, you can't eat sweets..."

To my surprise he looked hurt. "I _can_ eat sweets. It's just chocolate I can't. I read."

"That's all?"

"Of course not. I can play the piano. I can play the sax. I used to be quite an outdoorsman before I got sick."

"You can play the piano and the sax?" I asked, my curiosity aroused. Talk about coincidences.

"Not very well," he admitted. "The sax better than the piano. Actually, just about any wind instrument using a Böehm keypad. That means no trumpets, euphoniums, trombones, and the like." I chuckled as I imagined him trying to play a tuba and keeling over from the weight.

"What kind of sax?" I asked.

"Tenor."

"Ah. I play too, you know."

"Really? What?"

"Piano, sax, guitar, most of the time. I'm a composer. Not a good one, yet, but I'm getting there."

"That's your career, isn't it?"

I nodded. "How did you guess?"

"There's something in your eyes and the way you look that tells me you're a musician."

I tossed my hair back. At that moment I would've given anything for the chance to light up. "Oh, come on. That's ridiculous."

"Not to me, it isn't."

-oOo-

Our conversation turned to favorite singers and the like. We had a little game wherein we'd give each other five seconds to name a string of singers, composers, librettists and the like. At one point I mentioned that she had a lot of classical people on her list.

She nodded her head a little. "Well, I have always been inclined that way."

"But jazz and the classics? It doesn't seem to... fit together."

"Why not?"

"Well, one's so freeform, while the other's so formal."

"So? They're just alternate ways of expressing the same things, just as photography was once a substitute for painting before it became an art form in its own right. You would do better by treading both sides of the river."

I pumped my brows. "I guess." It is very peculiar to me, though, that we both enjoy the old Arakawaband.

"It's too bad there's no piano here," she said. "I play to relax myself, sometimes."

"I've got a synthesizer in my room over at Missus Chubby's," I suggested. "I could lend it to you. I don't use it much anyway."

She hesitated, looking straight at me. That was another thing that I found unusual, as though she had decided to act beyond the usual mores of her culture. Her next line could've been plucked straight from a movie.

"You don't give up, do you?"

I was taken aback. "W-what do you mean?"

"Oh, don't play the fool with me. I can see it in your eyes. You're interested in me, aren't you?"

I must have colored, because the heat rose to my face.

"I don't mean to embarrass you," she said, and her voice was a straightforward and frank as I had ever heard it. "But I don't play around."

"W-well I'm not looking t-to play around," I said, spluttering, my anger rising. Play around indeed! As if I ever could, without suffering a heart attack! The arrogance of her! Just because she's beautiful doesn't mean she could go assume that I'd hit on her! "I just thought you were pretty, and wanted the pleasure of your company, because I like beautiful women. I'm sorry I forced myself on you." I got up to leave.

-oOo-

I admit his words made me pause. A split-second ago I was exulting that I had found my backbone again. Now I was thinking that maybe I had been a little too presumptuous and arrogant. I wasn't looking to really hurt his feelings, just to push him away a little, tell him I needed to be by myself. Oh, well. Unkickable a puppy may be, but there was no stricture against using your foot to sweep one away.

"Wait!" I said as he walked towards the door. He looked at me contemptuously and said in a low voice, "I don't go after married women, they're another man's scraps."

It just bounced off me. I knew he was reacting out of the hurt, so I forgave him instantly.

"_Chotto matte kudasai!_" I spoke. "_Namae wa?_"

That got him to stop, as I anticipated. "I can't speak your rubbish."

"Well, I can speak yours, and I'm sorry. But I just wanted you to know... how things stand. I am sorry."

He just stood there with his hand on the door handle.

"I will accompany you back to Missus Chubby's," I said, going to him and taking hold of his left arm. He froze.

"What is it?"

"I–I don't know," he said, sounding bewildered. "When you touched me—" he said it as though I had given him a blessing by clasping him "—when you touched me I felt a spark go up my arm."

"Static electricity," I explained easily. He looked dubious and shrugged.

"What was it you just said?"

At least he wasn't so angry now. "I was asking for your name," I said. "You tell me yours and I'll tell you mine."

"My name is Alan."

I told him mine, and he repeated it, testing its sound, rolling it around on his tongue. "That's a strange-sounding name."

"It isn't where I live." And I won't bother to tell you anymore that it was rude, the way you didn't tell me your name before. "Do you feel like walking back? I can carry you, if you don't feel like it."

"What? No, I'm walking back, of course!" He opened the door.

"Then place one foot in front of the other. That's a good boy. We'll soon have you safely home."

-oOo-

Nobody I knew could stand my slow pace, so I hurried my walk, and by the time I got to the middle of the beach I had to stop and catch my breath, whereupon she _tsk_ed and bore me up behind her. I began to protest, but she told me to shut up—those were the very words she used—and began to walk the rest of the way with me on her back. She instructed me to put my arms around her, so I did, encircling her neck. She smelled quite nice; it reminded me of jasmine, somehow. At one point she stumbled on a portion of uneven ground, and my hands flopped up and down and gave her breasts a good patting. I apologized very loudly and instantly removed them from her. She stopped, had me get off her back, and grabbed my hands and placed them on her shoulders, telling me to keep them there; then she lifted me up again, and we went on our way. It was a wonder to me that she didn't get any more ticked off. Maybe that was her way of telling me I was a nonsexual entity to her, that she didn't feel at all threatened by me. I remember being totally depressed at the thought.

She deposited me in front of the front door. "You should be safe enough here," she said as she turned to go.

"Thank you for the breakfast," I called lamely as she went down the stairs. She didn't answer, didn't even look my way, so I dejectedly turned and reached for the doorknob.

-oOo-

"Alan," I said as I stopped on the stairs.

He looked back.

"I will expect you tomorrow morning."

A smile appeared on his pale lips. "Okay." It turned into an all-out grin, which he smothered, but not very quickly or completely.

I walked away. My conscience was berating me. Tough and mean, it said. Won't string him along. Oh, sure. I told it to pipe down. After all, he knew where he stood with me now, and that was bound to keep things nice and safe. I liked having a not-puppy dog around.

-oOo-

I was in high spirits as I watched her leave. She was nice enough to me, despite my little gaffes, and had actually said she wanted me back tomorrow! Joy, as it flies in the light of the sun, could never have been brighter than at that moment. I hobbled to my room and spent the rest of the day hugging my pillows. Maybe she'd still like to borrow the synthesizer? Anything, anything, to make the angel of St. Mary—whose name I now knew—happy.


	2. Diminuendo

In the end I did borrow his synthesizer, but only after he had pestered me for three days about it. Was I lucky it was a Korg. The way he described it, I was expecting something toylike, a Casio or low-end Yamaha.

It was very fortunate, too, that I insisted on looking at it in his room, because the stubborn-headed boy told me he was going to bring it over himself to the house. Was he nuts? I was quite annoyed—and relieved—to stomp out of there with it in my arms.

He came over too, and I let him rest awhile as I plugged it in and warmed up a little. Ah, heaven. Quite unconsciously my fingers segued into a composition I'd been tinkering with for a couple of months. It didn't match the waves and the heat and the general air about us, so I switched to another.

He was conscientious enough to remain quiet while I played. I had assumed he was listening. But when I looked up, he was slumped over the table. I rose in alarm and shook him, and up popped his head. He had just fallen asleep.

"Don't scare me like that!" I said, raising my voice. I couldn't help it. He accepted the reprimand, and the next time I looked at him I found him with his head leaning back over the backrest, snoring slightly.

I woke him again. "Look, if you're sleepy you can just go back to your house," I said reprovingly. "Come on, piggy-back."

-oOo-

"No way!" I had my pride. She'd manhandled me enough the past days. I was going to walk back, and this time she wasn't going to stop me. But I wasn't going to go back home. Not just yet. "It's your fault," I said. "What you're playing is putting me to sleep."

Up went an eyebrow. "You mean it's boring?"

"N-no, no! It's... well, it makes one want to drown in it, if you know what I mean."

"No, I don't."

I tried to explain it to her, something about a sea of sound, and the waves, and a mysterious feeling, unsolvable, thoughts trailing off into the night beyond the picket fence lining a garden, and that stuff. It was a long time before comprehension glimmered in her eyes.

For some reason she led me to the bench seat near her. "You sit there," she said. "And if you want to sleep you just lie down, okay?"

I nodded, and the angel of St. Mary's, she went back to the church organ and started to play again.

-oOo-

The following evening I was hammering the keyboard as if I wanted to break the white plastic. The air felt dense, humid, oppressive. I felt like the walls were closing in on me, and I just had to break out. But I couldn't, so I vented my unexplainable anger on the device instead. Alan noticed this, of course, and asked what was wrong.

"Nothing," I snapped. "Why should anything be wrong?"

He retreated into himself and said nothing more. I had successfully overcome my qualms and kicked the puppy, and wasn't very happy with myself.

It was all _his_ fault, naturally. I had specifically told him to not come after me, to leave me alone until such time as I wished to come back. But when I came to Mrs. Chubby's to collect my ward and his keyboard, she gave me a telegram, which I opened and read. Damn him! Goddamn him!

I felt a small tug at the edge of my shirt and heard my name spoken.

"Yes?" I said, determined not to let my emotions get the better of me this time.

"Play for me, please."

I looked down at the young face with the old eyes. Somehow I got the feeling that I was facing someone much older than I saw him to be.

"Alright." I laced my fingers and stretched my hands, palm outwards. The next piece I played as if I was in a formal recital. But the emotions I had been keeping inside me began to seep out, as if the music was a water tap I had twisted open, and by the time I was finished, tears were streaming down my cheeks.

My name was called again. I looked at him and saw a mixture of concern and wonder on his face. "Yes?"

"What's wrong?"

I sniffed. Ah, what could it hurt now? "My husband's coming over."

"So?"

"He's taking me back with him to Japan."

"Why are you crying, then?"

The answer revealed itself to me just then, at that very moment. The little boy had given it to me, in making me recall my past. "I'm afraid to return," I said. "I'm afraid to return."

"Why?"

"Because I fear that once I go back, the walls will close around me forever." Escape. Yeah, that was what this was all about, wasn't it? I was still afraid of dropping my old self, of assuming a new role, of wearing a new mantle around my shoulders.

He put his hand in his shorts pocket and took out a handkerchief. "Don't worry, I haven't used it yet," he said as he offered it to me.

He made me smile. I took it from him and dabbed my eyes and erased the tracks on my cheeks.

"What was that you were playing?"

I looked at him. "I call it 'Emotion'."

"It's yours?"

I nodded.

"Play me another, please."

I did. No one could command me to play if I didn't want to, but I had nothing against requests, especially from someone whose only sanctuaries from pain were little ephemeral things, like a smile, a glissando, a word of kindness, the sleepy warmth of a summer afternoon that all too quickly gets consigned to memory, which then gradually fades away. That evening, as I played another composition for him, I thought, what the heck, if the waters are going to close around my head soon, I might as well have fun while this lasts.

I kept playing, far into the night, while the waves surged onto the shore of St. Mary's and the young man listened, sometimes talked, and, eventually, slept. Slowly, slowly, in a million years or so, the sea would win and submerge the island. My fate would come much sooner.

-oOo-

I woke to bright sunlight and an aching back. I silently cursed myself for leaving the blinds open and sat up. It was strange, but I didn't remember putting a blanket over myself. And since when was the bed—oh, no.

"Good morning," she said pleasantly, sitting at the little table in a pink bathrobe, with her hair covered by a terry turban and a mug of something steaming in her hand. Her legs were crossed, and I don't know if she knew it, but the hem of her bathrobe had fallen away, revealing a lot of thigh.

Her demeanor and dress alarmed me. Fearing the worst, I looked at myself under the blanket, and as I did so I heard her laugh.

I shot her an annoyed glance. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," she giggled. "Nothing."

I made sure I had my best snide expression on, and fired my own boradside. "You've got very nice legs."

"What? Oh!" She started to cover up, and I went 'Bollocks!' in my mind. If I hadn't mentioned it she would've probably never noticed, and I could've had a lovely show of flesh... but the grateful smile on her face was an excellent substitute for it.

"What am I doing here?" I asked.

"You don't remember?"

"It's all so hazy to me," I murmured.

She smiled again, and I caught the glint in her eye as she let her bathrobe fall, exposing her thighs again. "Well, we had a very lovely time," she informed me, in a throaty contralto that raised the hairs on the back of my neck. "I'm hurt that you cannot remember it."

What? But that's impossible—how could I? She must be lying... or if she were telling the truth, she must've been extra-gentle with me, and I must've been extra-

My balloon burst when she guffawed.

"Fiend," I muttered. "That's not very sporting of you."

"I'm sorry," she choked, her eyes watering. "Don't worry, I asked Missus Chubby if I could let you sleep over. It was so late I didn't want to wake you up anymore." She gestured with the mug at the contents on the table. "Breakfast?"

-oOo-

I couldn't believe it. I was flirting with him. Come on, I told myself. That's not fair to him, to either of you. You set the bounds and yet you're crossing over them yourself.

Well, you're only young once, I defended myself. When he grows older I hope he'll think kindly of the woman who showed him some interest when no one else would.

That's not being kind. That's being cruel.

Alright, can it. I can't help it; he reminds me of him. And I could never explain why I was attracted to _him_ in the first place, remember? He was so wishy-washy in the beginning.

I watched Alan amble over to the table and start choosing the food he was going to eat. Well, there's one consolation, I told myself. At least he likes my cooking.

-oOo-

For decorum's sake I went back to the bungalow and put in an extended appearance, but all I really wanted to do was to return to the shack and spend the rest of the day with her. So her husband was coming to bring her back to Japan? It sounded like she was being caged there. Suddenly being with her was no longer an idyll; it was a race with time, a contest I would never win.

-oOo-

He came again that night, walking by himself on the beach, and caught me packing. I didn't have much stuff with me, just a backpack and a roller bag's worth.

I was surprised at him coming over without assistance and said so. He just stared straight at my things on the bed. He was standing just inside the open door.

"Are you leaving so soon?" he asked. "The telegram just got here yesterday."

I simply nodded. How could I explain to him about my husband and his powers? For all I knew he could be downtown already, prowling around, looking for me. He knew where I was, but not exactly; I had secreted myself away that much.

"It's unfair!" he blurted out. "This husband of yours must be an ogre."

"Ogre?"

"A monster."

"No, he isn't," I replied. "He's a sweet man and I love him."

"But why is he taking you back against your will?"

How do I explain to a young innocent the vagaries of the heart, the twists and turns of the human psyche, when I am no expert in it myself? "To face up to what I should. I was running away, Alan. That never solves anything."

"You know," he said contemplatively, "there's this gun on the wall of Missus Chubby's living room..."

"Alan."

"It's j-just a thought," he stammered, raising his hands. "We could call the police and have him kept in the station for a while," he persisted. "My father's friends with the chief—"

"Alan, no."

"But why?" The last word was one great outrush of anguish and non-understanding.

"I think you'd better go back home," I said quietly. "You might harm yourself." So saying, I walked up to him and grasped him by the upper arm. "Come on."

He stepped behind me and—God help me, my heart still contracts at the memory of what he did—he embraced me, putting his arms around my waist. His clinch was so tight it hurt.

I felt him press his face into my back and heard him speak my name in a trembling voice. I whispered his just as unsteadily.

"I'll miss you," he said.

"Don't be so foolish," I said. I wanted to shake his arms off, but was paralyzed by my own traitorous heart and my wish to not distress him. "How can you miss someone you've only known for a few days? Please let go of me."

-oOo-

Now that I had her I wasn't about to let go so easily. "Mrs. Kasuga," I whispered fervently, "I lo–"

"Don't!" She remained standing perfectly still. "Don't say it. You don't know what you're talking about, Alan. I don't want this, and I don't want to hurt you, so please, let me go."

I didn't answer her, and I didn't let go. So she reached up and forced my hands off her. As I said before, she was strong.

"Alan," she said gently as she turned around, "we've known each other for such a short time and yet I consider you a friend already. Let's keep it that way, please." She put a hand on my head and ruffled my hair. "Go and get yourself well. Then maybe we can meet again in the future, okay?"

I knew she was lying. Once off St. Mary's, the angel would take flight and I'd never see her again. So to save myself, and what was left of my dignity—after having acted so stupidly and mauled it, what was there left to do?—I pushed past her and began the long, slow journey back to the bungalow.

She caught up with me. "Wait," she whispered. I turned to face her, and found her eyes, luminous with moisture in the moonlight, looking at me.

-oOo-

What was I supposed to say to him? That I was sorry I had a husband, when there was no truth to that? Should I beg for him to understand, when that would imply the same thing? Should I apologize for hurting him, when he had brought most of it upon himself? I didn't know. I stood there looking into his eyes, agonizing over what to say, when his hand placed themselves over my shoulders, and his face began to draw nearer to mine.

-oOo-

It was then that we both heard the cry.

"Madoka!"

She stiffened and I stiffened and we both looked in the direction of the bungalow.

-oOo-

Oh, God. Kyousuke.

He was standing some distance away from us, far enough that the darkness hid his features, but near enough to see what we were doing with only a little moonlight to aid him.

I never heard or saw him until then. He must have teleported himself onto the beach, perhaps after seeing our shadows walking on the sand.

I knew just from the tone of his voice that he was very angry. As well as he should be, if I were in his place. Now I knew what it was like to get caught in a compromising situation, like he did so many times, only to explain the truth to me afterwards.

It all happened so fast. I jerked my head to look at him, and suddenly Alan forced it back and kissed me. Right in front of Kyousuke. If there were any doubts in his mind, they would have all been erased by the sight in front of him.

I pushed the young man away and slapped him. Then I looked back at my husband, only to find emptiness where once he stood.

I dashed up to where he had been. "Kyousuke!" I called. "Kyousuke!" He was nowhere to be seen. Darn him, he must have used his teleportation again. I kept calling into the darkness, until Alan came up behind me. I heard him and spun around.

-oOo-

She was livid. "How dare you!" she shouted. "Why did you do that?"

I had no excuse. I just stood there looking at her, mute.

"You betrayed my trust and put me in more trouble than I was before!" she said. "Why did you do it, Alan?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," I mumbled.

"Well, it wasn't." She cast her gaze around us one final time, then said, "Come on. I will escort you home. After this I will no longer see you. Don't come to the house any more. And don't worry about your plaything, I will return it later."

I cursed myself for being wrong. She did love him, after all. I shouldn't have kissed her, and been content with her friendship. I shouldn't have kissed her.

-oOo-

I heard her calling out my name, but kept myself hidden. With all those years of having to correct her misunderstandings—our misunderstandings—under my belt, I felt it was only right that I still give her the benefit of the doubt. She had done the same for me so many times before. I guess it was the shock that kicked me out of place and teleported me onto the roof of the dilapidated house. My young wife, being kissed by a young lad. There was a joke in there, somewhere. If only I could find out what it was before I faced her.

-oOo-

Poor Alan. I guess being bold didn't go too well with him. I could tell he was trying to apologize when we got to his door, but he remained silent. And I wasn't inclined to help him sort himself out; my heart was all in a tizzy over my husband. What he must be thinking of the woman he had married! Was he lurking somewhere nearby, watching his unfaithful wife and her young paramour? He might even find it in himself to hurt Alan. I know what he's capable of when his anger and jealousy are aroused.

"Alan," I said hurriedly, "go to your room, just in case my husband comes looking. I'll try to find him and calm him down before he does something stupid." I couldn't tell him the whole truth, so it was the best lie I could give him. "This is goodbye, young man. If you had only waited, I think I would've given you a kiss anyway, as a remembrance." I ran down the steps and started calling for my husband, mentally asking for Mrs. Chubby to forgive me my noise.

-oOo-

I didn't answer her calls. She kept at it until my wristwatch said ten. Then the cries ceased and I heard the door below me close.

I gave her ten minutes, then teleported myself inside the house, still in my lying-down pose, with my head propped up on an elbow. When she had accompanied the young man back to the old lady's house I risked a quick look-around, just so I could make an appropriately dramatic entrance.

She was standing in the middle of the room, and had her back to me. She didn't hear me materialize just above the bed, and I was careful to avoid making it creak as I lowered myself on it.

My nascent wrath was tempered by her obvious misery. True, I couldn't see her face, but the stamping of her foot was all I needed to see to know her state of mind. She rarely does something like that. She usually just stands still. Any emotion gets expressed on her face, especially in those lovely, changeable cat-like eyes of hers.

"Well, Madoka, care to explain what happened a while ago?"

She jumped and turned around. "Kyousuke!"

"Last I checked, that was my name," I said. Inappropriately cheeky, but I so rarely get the upper hand of her in situations like these, I was determined to enjoy it for as long as I could.

The words came out of her in a rush, so fast that I had to ask her to stop and repeat what she just said. Finally I understood, and I patted the bed in front of me, asking her to sit down.

"So the poor boy has a massive crush on you? Aren't you old enough to be his mom?"

Her eyes flashed. "Kyousuke."

"Just kidding."

"He's only a couple of years younger than you are," she said.

I kept silent for a few minutes, letting her sweat a little more, though I think my relaxed air told her what she needed to know. "How long has this been going on, Madoka?"

"A few days, but this is the only time he's ever gone ahead and done something he shouldn't." She sighed. "I just wanted to help him by making him exercise."

"Exercise? You mean in this bed?"

"Kyousuke! Don't be so _ecchi!_ He can't do that anyway. It'll kill him."

"How so?" I got a quick overview of the young man's health.

-oOo-

He just lay there for minute or two, with that exasperatingly pacific expression on his face. I wondered how he could stay so cool at a time like this.

"Alright," he said finally. "I guess I can forgive him, seeing as how I, too, got bewitched by your charms. But you, Madoka, you still have to explain a few things to me."

"Such as?"

"Why you insisted on coming alone to this godforsaken place. I had a hard time finding a paper map which showed it." He groaned loudly. "Don't even bother asking what I went through to get here."

My throat stopped up with all I wanted to say to him, but couldn't. I swallowed them back down and said, "I'll explain everything to you when we get home."

To my surprise a frown emerged on his face. "You want to go home?"

"As soon as possible. That's what you're here for, isn't it? To bring your runaway wife back home?"

The frown deepened. "Why would I want to do that? I just got some time off from work. I came here to join you."

"What?" I turned my back to him and recalled the words of the telegram. It had said "AM COMING OVER TO ST MARYS STOP GET READY STOP KYOUSUKE STOP" That was all.

The absurdity of the whole situation dawned on me, and I began to laugh.

-oOo-

"Madoka! What's wrong?" I thought the strain, little as I supposed it was, had somehow finally made her snap.

Still laughing like a crazy woman, she turned around and dove at me, pinning me underneath her, her unfettered breasts brushing against my chest. She then gave me a long kiss. When it finished she got off me and stood back up, mumbling something about her world existing only in her mind—or something like it.

She headed for the gas range. "I hope you don't mind canned goods and ramen. I wasn't expecting you to arrive yet."

"Of course not. Let me just change, and I'll help you cook."

I'm happy to report that I slept that night with both my heart and my belly full, with a beautiful woman nestled in my arms.

-oOo-

He was standing solemnly outside the door when I opened it. Mrs. Chubby was with him. The first thing he did was bow. He kept on bowing and saying he was sorry, very sorry, and I bowed in return, until our heads knocked together. We straightened up and found ourselves rubbing our pates and laughed.

He sort of lost all his color when I introduced Kyousuke to him. He did his bowing, bowing, bowing routine again—I don't know where he got it from, certainly it was not from me—and my husband told him to stop. Since _otto_-san is not as conversant as I am in English, I had to butt in and translate. The things Kyousuke said then made me want to shrink inside myself. I was sure he was only doing it so he could have a laugh at my expense. Stuff like, "I forgive you, because I can understand how you became attracted to so wonderful a woman," and the like. I stood there and felt my cheeks grow hot. He gave me little glances that told me he knew exactly what I was feeling and was deliberately doing what he was doing. I sighed and wished his cousin were with us. Kazuya takes my side almost all of the time, if only to discomfit his Kyousuke-niichan.

Alan surprised me by asking if he could have a private word with my husband. When I told Kyousuke what he said he went out the door and led the young man some distance away. The noise of the wind and the waves camouflaged their talk, and I looked apologetically at Mrs. Chubby, who shook her head and smiled. It would be a learning experience, she said, her lined face splitting into a reassuring grin.

I could tell the young man was having trouble making himself understood. He kept gesturing, while the other stood still and listened. Finally Kyousuke nodded and they walked back to us. I didn't like the grim expression on my husband's face.

Alan said he was leaving. Mrs. Chubby helped him away, and my spouse and I watched them.

"Madoka."

"Hmm?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"He told me what you said."

I had to consciously hide my shock. In my relief at how well things had gone I had forgotten what I told Alan. I settled for an aggressive posture. "So?"

"Are you that unhappy?"

I shook my head. "_Anata,_ you know me and my moods." I took one last glance at the boy and his guardian and led Kyousuke inside, shutting the door after him and leaning myself against it. I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes as I admitted, "I'm afraid of becoming someone else." I gave him that speech about the walls closing in all around me, about assuming another role in life, and at the end he barked with sharp laughter.

"Whatever made you think that? You just be who you are, and everything will be alright!"

"You think so?"

"Yes! I married you for you, not to get myself a trophy woman to display at home! I was wondering why you seemed so distracted before you left," he added in a quieter voice.

-oOo-

Her capriciousness will never cease to baffle and amaze me. She stopped leaning against the door and began shedding her clothes. First her shirt, then her shorts and panties. As I stood there staring at her, proud and luscious, a goddess of beauty personified yet vulnerable and all too mortal, she stepped out of her floppy sandals and whispered, "This is who I am, Kasuga-kun. Am I the one you still want, after all these years?"

I put my hands on her shoulders and drew her to me.

-oOo-

The next three days passed by in a haze of sun, wind, sky, and water. Rustling palm leaves, shushing sand, and waves hissing and dying upon the shore. Thrice, the moans of heated lovemaking. We went downtown on the second day, to play the role of ordinary tourists, and on the eve of the third I decided to go for a swim as the sun fell from the sky. I asked him to come into the water with me, but he declined. He had a bad scrape on one calf, caused by falling off a stadium seat while on the job at the Tokyo Dome.

I shucked my clothes as he went back into the house and waded into the water. I was somewhat apprehensive then, fearing that Alan would return and I'd be caught _in flagrante delicto_ again. But I thought, what the heck, Kyousuke was here anyway, and the young man wasn't liable to come near enough to see what state I was in. We had patched things up as best we could, but of course it would be awkward for everyone to have him come and visit us so soon.

We kept seeing him sporadically on the veranda of Mrs. Chubby's bungalow, but his presence there grew less and less, until we had not seen him at all on the third day. I kept remembering in my mind the penitent look on his face when he apologized and felt guilty. If I hadn't acted so nice to him none of this would ever have happened. Of course, if none of this had ever happened, I would still be in my quandary, Kyousuke would still be in the dark about my feelings, and he would've had to deal with a much more troubled—and nasty—me when he arrived.

As I was swimming I heard him shout. I looked towards the shore and saw him waving frantically, motioning at me to—get out of the water?

-oOo-

She didn't appear to understand what I was trying to tell her, so I checked the widow's bungalow. I could see no one outside, so I teleported myself into the water beside her.

She bumped into me and started. "Don't do that!"

"Come on, let's get out of here," I said quickly.

"Why?"

"There's a shark nearby."

"What?" She looked at me funny, so I jerked a thumb behind us. She looked. And started to chortle, to my displeasure.

"You should be more observant. That's not a shark, that's a dolphin."

I turned and hunted for the fin and, after some seconds, had to agree with her. Unless sharks had blowholes and could whistle and click and otherwise vocalize, I was wrong. She told me there was a pod which regularly did the round of the bay. It was part of their territory.

She slapped the surface of the water a couple of times. "If they come here, I'll show you something peculiar," she said.

I just had to get out of the water, as my wound was hurting. I told her this and she had me come out by myself, while she stayed and at first one, then a number of cetaceans surrounded her, making their unusual noises. I watched from the shore.

-oOo-

The dolphins were something I had forgotten to tell Kyousuke about. Mrs. Chubby had told me about them when I arrived, and I asked if it was safe to be in the water with them around. She answered yes. I took a swim with them once, before I met the young man.

Like that first time, today they kept bumping me and brushing against my body. One big bull, in particular, seemed to have a particular interest in me and pushed all the others away. He then kept a vigil as I swam, coming near me and turning belly up, encouraging me to scratch his tummy as I had dared to do so before. I gave in, and he looked at me with those beady, teary eyes of his and that ridiculous fixed smile; I think he liked it.

This went on for some fifteen minutes or so, at the end of which I felt it was time to come out of the water. I gave the bull one last scritchy-scratch, and headed for shore.

-oOo-

She emerged from the sea, glistening in the late afternoon sunlight. The water sluiced, then dripped off her nakedness, off the tips of her fingers and the underside of her breasts and the dark vee at her crotch, as she walked to me with an animated expression on her face.

Smiling like an impish teenager, she told me all about the dolphins and how she had come to know about them and meet them. Then, still wet and dripping and delightfully nude, she edged up to me, put an arm around my waist and pointed the leader out. He was raising his head out of the water and looking at us, whistling and chattering; I joked that he was singing to her, trying to get her to come back into the water so he could ravish her with all his finny goodness. I shouted that I sympathized with him, but she was mine, all mine, and no mammal, fish-shaped or otherwise, could ever take her away from me.

-oOo-

I smiled up at him and accepted his offer of a towel. He wrapped it around me and, to my astonishment, picked me up and carried me into the house. Once inside he shed his own clothes and led me inside the bathroom. There he soaped and bathed me, and I did the same for him. We began teasing each other, and things got pretty heated. Soon we were finishing our shower and drying off quickly, so we could make love on the bed. We didn't quite get there in time.

-oOo-

When we tumbled onto the bed, satiated and happy, I couldn't help but chuckle a little. She frowned and asked me what was so funny; I replied I was a bit surprised that we were acting like a pair of oversexed teenagers.

"It's the island magic, loverboy," she replied confidently, leaning over to kiss me and then dropping her head back on the pillow. A minute later things changed, and I was squabbling with her over her wet hair and why she wouldn't dry it. Still later on we were kissing and making up, and the enigmatic Madoka fell asleep with her black tresses still damp. I waited for a couple of minutes for her slumber to deepen, then patted them dry with a towel. I remember smirking at that time, thinking that I'd won the argument.

She looked like a being from the empyrean in repose, her parentage parts heaven and parts eros. Her creamy skin was flushed here and there from our lovemaking, and her chest voluptuously rose and fell in regular rhythm. She looked not so much asleep as simply lying there on the pillows with her eyes closed, contemplating the thoughts of the inner sea of her mind. How I wished I could delve it with her. Sometimes I think it would be better if that were so; had the young man not told me about what she had revealed to him, I would never have guessed that she was afraid of the new life she had embarked upon. I keep wishing to this day that she would unburden herself more to me; she still carries much of her self-sacrificing ways with her, and I hate to discover that they had been causing her pain. I try to tell her how much I love her, what she means to me, and yet my words are such paltry things to touch her heart with. I have to keep traveling my beloved's labyrinthine infinity to discover what she needs from her life, what she wants from me. I keep on reflecting that it is a good thing she is the kind of person she is, and that she loves me.

Maybe I should have seen the signs. Some weeks before she left we had attended a social function, and she decked one asshole who had come on to her, and then—when she had rebuffed him—insulted her parents. I was talking to someone else at the time, so I wasn't there to stop her. They say it was a beautiful right to the jaw and, afterwards, a knee to the groin. I told her afterwards that I was surprised at her violence, because it had been a long time since she had done something like that. She brushed my concerns off and growled that the man had gotten exactly what he deserved; but she got perilously close to being sued after the incident. It was only with Kurumi and Akane's help—and a lawyer friend of my father's—that we got things straightened out. As a goodbye gift to that man I let the air out of his car's tires after the court hearing. I had learned much over the years from my grandparents_,_ and I'm afraid I haven't been exactly magnanimous in the use of my gifts. But then again, it was because of Madoka: I'll never allow anyone to hurt her or impugn her name. Manami once commented that my love for her was an obsession, and I've never seen a reason to correct her of that fact.

-oOo-

We left late the next day, after I had purchased a ticket for myself, so as to catch the second connecting flight to the mainland. From thence we would ride a KAL airliner all the way home. I kidded my husband about teleporting us back, but he asked me if I really wanted to engage in such a perilous undertaking. But how did he get to St. Mary's so fast, if he didn't use his powers?

"I did," he said in answer to my question. "And I ended up in Madagascar, rather than here. You didn't notice the point of origin of the telegram?"

I shook my head and said I had been too rattled by the message to note it.

We said our goodbyes to Mrs. Chubby. I turned the key of the house over to her and thanked her for a very pleasant stay, and so did Kyousuke. Alan was there, in his wheelchair, looking woebegone. Kyousuke and I exchanged secret looks, and I told him in a low voice that I had to talk to him before we left. Could he please wait out of earshot, under the mango tree where I parked the bicycle I had used?

He nodded and I walked up to Alan. He was quite surprised to see me coming near him.

"I thought you were in a hurry," he said.

I shook my head. "Not really. I want to say goodbye to you first."

He looked at me listlessly. "Goodbye, then."

"Alan, do you really want us to part this way? Please, we cannot be what you want us to be, but at least we can be friends."

He looked at me a long time. "Okay, Missus Kasuga. It was nice knowing you."

"I'd like to know how you are, in the future," I said. "Do you want to write to me?"

His eyes brightened and he nodded. "Sure!"

I rummaged in my handbag for a name-card. As I said before, I hadn't come here to cultivate any friends, so the three I had were old and out-of-date. They still had my maiden name on them, and the address of my parents' house. I wrote my married name on the back of one, along with my new address, and gave it to him. He said thank you, and asked if I could call Kyousuke for a moment. I was confused but acceded to his request, and he, smiling again, told me to wait while he got something from his room.

Kyousuke had just come up the steps when Alan came out the door. He bore two things in his hands: one was a bit of yellow paper, with his name and address written on it, which he gave to me; the other was a bouquet of peach-petaled roses, which, bewilderingly enough, he showed to _otto_-san.

"I'm sorry, but I don't swing that way," my amused husband said. I began to translate, when Alan spoke. He sounded like he had rehearsed his lines; his cheeks were splashes of red as he said them.

"Please, sir, your beautiful lady has no flowers. Allow me to give these to her."

I was abashed at his gallantry. "Kyousuke, he's asking your permission to give me the flowers." Smiling at Alan, my husband said, "Of course," in English.

-oOo-

I stood up and gave the flowers to her. She beamed at me, as if we hadn't been in conflict a few days earlier. "Thank you! You're so sweet." She smelled the bouquet for a second, then put it down, stepped towards me, and kissed me near my mouth. As she pulled away her lips lightly brushed the edge of mine, and I was sorry it couldn't have been any more intimate.

"Please take care of yourself, okay? Write me when you can."

"Yes, Missus Kasuga." I paused and gathered my courage. "I'll miss you."

"Don't be so sad," she said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "You just keep acting nice towards the girls, and I am sure you will find one of your own someday. So that means you'll have to grow strong again and get out of that wheelchair."

"But it's so much work trying to snag one," I complained. "And all the girls I know back home are shallow and conceited and make fun of me."

"Alan, are you trying to tell me I'm an easy woman?"

"What? Oh, no, no!"

"Then I want you to look again among those girls. I'm sure not all of them are that bad." I heard her husband chuckle and wondered how much English he understood. "They just don't know you well enough, I guess. If you want something that much, I'm afraid you'll have to work for it."

"Yes, Missus Kasuga."

She nodded to me and made a little wave of the hand. Then she beckoned to her husband and, together with him, went down the steps. They stood at the bottom and said, "Thank you for everything" in unison. Well, she said 'thank you for everything.' He just said 'thank you.'

I watched them walk away on the dirt road. They disappeared behind the rise, and I sighed. There went the angel of St. Mary's. I knew I would never see her again.

-oOo-

"Kyousuke, aren't you going to teleport us to town yet?"

"Just a little further, Madoka."

"But we're so far from the house already! They can't see us anymore."

"Just to be on the safe side."

"Oh, have it your way."

"Madoka?"

"What?"

"Do you think anyone will pass by here soon?"

"I don't think so, why?"

"Well, we could try it under those trees over there..."

"No! I'm still tired from last night! You are a _goat,_ Kasuga-kun! Keep away from me!"

"Hey, I was only kidding! Don't you dare call me a goat!"

"I'll call you whatever I want–hey, put me down! I—ooh... mmm... are you going to carry me all the way to town?"

"Maybe, if you make it worth my while."

"Mmm-hmm. Then pucker up, lover."

-oOo-

I managed to stagger with her into town, dragging her luggage along behind us with the dint of my esper abilities. It would've been fatal for me to comment on her weight, so I said nothing about my hardship, claiming she was as light as a feather when she asked me if she was too heavy. I don't know if she believed me.

When we got to civilization I let her down and we resumed our more mundane method of locomotion. We were near the port where the tourist boats and fishing skiffs mingled when she stopped me.

"What is it?"

"Wait a moment." She drew out one of the roses—I wondered where the boy had gotten them, as this seemed such an unlikely place for them to be available—and ran past some puzzled native fishermen to the end of one of the piers, where she cast the flower far out into the water. She looked at it for a while, then walked back to me, somehow looking subdued.

"What was that for?"

She shook her head. "Nothing." She took her bags from me and said, "Let's go."

I shrugged and adjusted my own backpack and we hailed one of the island's rare taxicabs—Madoka would later tell me it was one of only two—and told the driver to take us to the airport.

I watched her looking out the window as the cab sped on, staring out at the passing scenery. I tried to fathom what was going on inside her head, but even with my powers I could never discern totally its contents. Nor does she offer an explanation all the time; the nearest I can get to an explanation for her capriciousness is that her beauty imposes upon her a different set of rules, that she must live by, and that others must learn. That is the attraction of the mystery known as Madoka: I realized a long time ago you could never truly call her yours. She is a zephyr off the blue mountains, going her own way, making the Aeolian harps sing with her passing. She is a cat who will do as she pleases, sometimes making you shout in alarm as she walks atop the fence of a neighboring house, while a dog snarls at her from below. She is a rare and beautiful plant, whom you have been suffered to take care of for a while. Joy for a while, joy for a while; and I dread the day when we will finally part. I have wondered, as I lay in bed beside her, or attended the funeral of a friend, whether I myself am human enough to ride the wheel of life, to someday come back and find her again. That would be something as serendipitous and as fortunate as the first time I met her.


End file.
